


Food Store Bound

by Mtorolite



Category: Homestuck
Genre: One Shot, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtorolite/pseuds/Mtorolite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee wants to make Karkat a celebratory dinner, but he thinks his past is catching up with him. A friend gets him back to his soulbro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food Store Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apologija](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apologija/gifts).



> for apologija!
> 
> A little drabble based in the Scandalous Bromance in Portland verse, as I promised another one and got stuck with no internet for a while and then no inspiration. Not beta'd, and not my best work, but until I get in the swing of writing again I'm just glad to produce anything.

The little international miracle mart was a forty minute bus ride away, near Gamzee’s old place, but he was sure that just a little bit of his time was going to be worth it to help his soulbro make a celebration and mark an end of one infernal semester. They made tortillas fresh every day and the butcher lady had rabbits and ducks and all kind of things hanging from her ceiling and they had every damn thing a motherfucker needed to make the best damn fajitas that no one could find in the Shopway. Karkat’s scholarly trials and tribulations were near done with for the year, what with finals week being upon him, and Gamzee had been laboriously planning to give his most studious brother a jubilee for not having to deal with Professor Noir anymore. 

Gamzee was given to understand, at length, from his roommate’s ranting, that Noir was the most malicious tutor to don a cardigan and elbow patches since Professor Moriarty, and Karkat had fought a bitter battle getting through the thrice-weekly lectures, each time coming home grumpier than usual.

So Gamzee figured that while Karkat was all busy proving to Noir that he had absorbed what he was supposed to, he would just collect his bus pass and a canvas bag and a pudding cup for the road, and set out for the international market, where he would procure the ingredients for Karkat’s miracle fajitas and flan, made fresh. 

It started out well. There was a little girl riding the bus that tried to play peek a boo with Gamzee while her dad talked on his phone until they got off the stop, and the old lady in front of him kept up a conversation about how Elvis Presley was the best thing that had happened to music, ever, and she got Gamzee to agree that the way he had danced was miraculous, and Gamzee remembered he had just pudding cup two stops before his and he slurped it down like that video he had seen of a slug eating a worm, and it was the kind of day where even Karkat might agree that there was some kind of beneficent god looking out for people. 

Gamzee remembered his bag and his trash and got a dozen warm tortillas wrapped up in brown paper, and some peppers and onions, and three nice avacados cause Karkat sometimes took his feelings out on them and damn if his rage and the potato masher and just a bit of lime didn’t make the bitchinest guacamole. And he needed a chile and some steak and that stuff for the flan, and then he’d have everything, and they’d have themselves the best celebratory dinner since the news stopped showing that clip of him in favor of some politician having an affair. 

Lucita remembered Gamzee from when he used to schlupp up to the market now and again, and even went to package him up some of the curried goat he used to get on Thursdays, but he just said thanks, and asked for the steak, and took the squashy package and smiled, and looked around for where he thought the caramel sauce might be hiding somewhere within all the chocolate and sweets that he wasn’t supposed to eat -

and stopped, cause he was seeing someone familiar, someone he oughtn’t be seeing, cause he was sure they didn’t know him anymore, but he heard them talking, and -

 

They were voices Gamzee knew, and he didn’t know where he knew them from, and he wasn’t sure if he was really hearing them, but of course he was, they were right there, they were following him, and talking, and they had come to make him make amends for what he had done, when they told him the old goat was dead and that guard got sent to the emergency ward, and then some of his friends had said, boy, you’ll pay, and he hadn’t gotten the chance, cause of solitary, but there they were, motherfucking watching a man get onions and peppers and fresh fucking tortillas for his best friend, just doing what he was supposed to be doing, taking care of his own self and his friend and making sure that Karbro felt like he had done a good job, cause Karkat was always making sure that Gamzee knew when he had done right, even if it didn’t sound like it, but now there were people here, and they were going to make him hurt and Gamzee had to get away and he raised his arms out, and tried to run - 

“What the hell are you doing!”

And he was running into people, but they were after him, Bill and Kyle, Kyle to liked to hit the kids in the face and Bill who had made sure Gamzee’s head felt it when he got thrown into the box, and that little fucker who tried to knife him when he came out, but no, now there were more of them, and why, he had finished, Karkat said, he was done, and they had to leave him alone, and Gamzee started throwing things.

“He’s freaking out, get him down!”  
“My fucking kimchee!”  
“Hey, uh -”  
“Watch it, boy! Someone get this fucker down!”

And now there were more voices, not just Bill and Kyle and Willy Switch, but everyone, and Gamzee, confused and afraid and wanting Karkat, stopped throwing stuff and lashed out with his bag and tried to kick away from the other people surrounding him and his fist hit something that crunched wetly, followed by a pained cry. A cacophany of new voices rose in response. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna call the cops!”  
“What the hell is wrong with this freak?’  
“Paolo, come here!”  
“Kid, get away from him, he’s freaking out!”  
“I’m, fine, I promise.”  
“Kid, you don’t know what he’s going to -”  
“Ay, Maurice, call the goddamn cops before -”

“Thanks, but, no, that won’t be, needed, as this guy, he’s my cousin, and I’m not going to be pressing any thing, or charges, that is, I just think that, probably, I ought to get him out of here, now, and get him, um somewhere calm, and I’ll be back, to pay -”

“Just get out of here! You and that freak!”

Gamzee’s mind was foggy and afraid and one of the voices was familiar, but Bill and Joe and Willy seemed to be gone but there were a whole bunch of people looking mad that he didn’t know; the immediate terror of people going to attack him was letting him down, but the adrenelin was still going, and he realized that someone was pulling him up and tugging him along, arm and shoulder, away from the crowd and the smashed jars of kimchee.

“Come on, Gamzee, we have to, leave, pretty quickly before you get upset again, and someone decides that, maybe we aren’t cousins and they think maybe to call the cops, after all, so up you get, and let’s just, you know, head back to, um, the shop.” 

So many longer days and little bitty minutes and mediumish hours had passed since Gamzee had had an attack without Karkat around to hold him together and get him out of it, and Gamzee felt like someone had taken a brillo made up of stuff to upset him and scrubbed around his teeth with it, and then flushed away all of his sense, like Karkat always said he had done when he was just a little thing, and maybe he smelled blood, but the voice was familiar, and said no cops, and their gait was smooth, so he let himself be lead, dragging his little canvas bag until his guide stopped moving and told him, well, there’s a bench, so maybe he ought to, take a seat?

“It’s still, half a mile at least, to your shop, Gamzee, but, I think, you could rest, a bit, before I make sure you get home, um, and maybe, just sleep? Cause I thought you were missing, cause you vanished, but, I guess, you didn’t, and I hadn’t been buy in a while, so I hope, that you at least have some clean blankets, and, maybe, a box of tissues, cause I think my nose is still bleeding, and might be broken? But, if I can clean up, and get you settled, than I’ll apologize to Maurice, and I’m sure, that you won’t be in any trouble.”

Gamzee sat blank faced and stared. They were sitting in one of the little houses where you could be dry and watch the rain and wait for the bus. And he had messed up, again in public, and the news, and the cops - and he started crying then. Gamzee was not a pleasant crier, his nose got snotty and when he covered his face, his paint smeared in with the tears and the spit as he coughed and hiccuped and cried. 

“Hey, Gamzee? GAMZEE. Gamzee, it’s Tavros? Remember, um, the kid in the chair? And your groceries? Gamzee? Uh, oh.”

 

Tavros was not in an ideal situation to deal with Gamzee, a friend that had disappeared, and now reappeared, and didn’t seem able to recall him or where he was, but needed someone. So, more awkwardly still, Tavros held the grocery bag and patted Gamzee’s back helplessly, and kept up a stream of describing what he had been up to while Gamzee was gone, and Gamzee cried, and finally he asked if his little wheeled brother could find Karkat, and Tavros had to extract Gamzee’s phone from his pocket, as Gamzee didn’t seem to be able to coordinate himself right now, and gave a slow and disjointed account to the angry guy on th other end of the phone, who had just finished the putrid sweater-ass’s fucking exam, and who the hell was he, why did he have Gamzee’s phone? And Tavros eventually threw out the steak package, which was getting smelly, and talked to Gamzee about the sky and the weather and how no one liked jarred kimchee any way, while Gamzee went between crying and silence and mumbling, until a bus pulled up and a short guy charged in and held onto Gamzee like he was going to explode, and took the bag and Gamzee and said thanks, sort of, and caught the next bus away a few minutes later, before Tavros could ask if they needed help, he could get them a ride, and where were they going? Was Gamzee okay?

He hoped so. .


End file.
